Things Holmes Has Ingested
by pretend-to-care
Summary: Holmes shares a discovery with Watson, leading the doctor to wonder just what else Holmes has nommed over the years. No slash, just a joyful romp through Holmes's insanity. Rated because the doctor is operating.


**Disclaimer: Herlock Sholmes, Wohn Jatson, Sladgtone, and Hrs. Mudson aren't mine. Neither are Sherlock Holmes, John Watson, Gladstone, or Mrs. Hudson. :) **

**A/N: This came out rather long for a oneshot, but that's alright-I doubt there will be complaints. This little number is speculations brought on by Holmes drinking Watson's eye surgery stuff, and yes, that is mentioned. Enjoy!**

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"Watson, I have just discovered something extremely useful," Holmes announced, marching into the room.

"Holmes!" Watson exclaimed. "This is an operating room, and I am operating!"

"Is that what they're calling it these days?" Holmes glanced at the body on the table. "Good gracious, Watson, you've lowered your standards."

"Get out of here, you loon!" Watson said, outraged. "I am removing a cyst!"

Holmes made a face, and then leaned over, peering at the body. "May I watch?"

"No! You are violating this patient's privacy!"

"Oh come now, Watson. Does anyone really care who sees their kidneys?"

"Out, Holmes!"

"But I need to share my discovery!" Holmes whined.

"Share with Gladstone," Watson muttered.

"Watson, Gladstone is a dog," the detective pointed out.

The doctor, sensing that Holmes had no intention of leaving any time soon, heaved a sigh. "Alright, you can stay."

Holmes let out a little clap and hopped up on a counter across the room.

"_Provided_ you stay over there and don't breathe much," Watson said. "And don't touch anything. Keep those grubby fingers to themselves."

"Yes sir," Holmes said, saluting. "Now, would you like to hear my discovery?"

"I don't believe I have a choice."

"It started with an accident," Holmes said nostalgically.

"Oh dear."

"I was attempting to create a sedative using only ingredients found in Nanny's spice cupboard."

"Did Nanny know about this?"

"No. I managed to escape with my life and limbs. But you're getting me ahead of myself, doctor. As I was mixing the turmeric and nutmeg, I noticed a small, unlabeled box of reddish powder," Holmes said.

Watson could see the turn this story was taking and was growing worried. "Please tell me you left it alone, Holmes."

"Oh, don't fret, Watson. I left it alone."

The doctor looked over at Holmes in surprise. "Really?"

"Yes. I was far more interested in the unlabeled box of white powder next to it."

Watson groaned and turned back to his patient.

"Naturally I wondered what sort of spice it was, and whether or not it would add to my mixture. I took it down and sniffed it—odorless. So I decided to taste it, taking a small bit on my finger and placed it on my tongue. It was wonderfully salty, but not in the same way as salt. Needless to say, I wanted more of this sensation and put more in my mouth." Holmes furrowed his brow. "And then my salivary glands began to work overtime." He paused, staring at Watson in horror as the doctor extracted a round, pus-dripping object from the inside of his patient with a pair of tongs. "My gosh, Watson! That developed inside this man's innards?"

"Yes, it did," Watson said, examining the cyst.

"You are a terrible doctor! You let it grow that big?"

Watson gave Holmes a look. "He isn't one of my _regular_ patients, Holmes."

"Well then that man has a terrible doctor!" Watson snorted and carried the object towards the garbage can. "Wait, Watson, you're just going to throw it away?" Holmes asked.

Watson stared at him for a moment. "No, Holmes, I was going to frame it and hang it above the fireplace."

"Don't, it would clash dreadfully with the wallpaper." Holmes hopped off of the counter and approached the doctor. "But we could study it. Is it hollow? What's inside?"

"Holmes, get back on your countertop!" Watson ordered.

"But your surgery's over!"

"Don't be silly, Holmes, I still have to stitch the man back up," Watson said.

"Oh. Excellent point. He would probably get arrested for walking around with his innards posing as…outards."

Watson shook his head and dropped the cyst in the garbage, Holmes looking mournfully on as though the world had just lost a great treasure. "Finish your story, old boy," the doctor prompted.

"Ah, yes, of course. Where was I?"

"Dumping unknown salty white powder in your mouth and receiving a lot of spit in return."

"Oh yes. So my mouth was filling with spit, which made the powder rather wet and caused it to stick to my mouth in the most unpleasant way."

"Whatever did you do?" Watson mumbled absently, threading a needle.

"I grabbed a nearby glass and drank deeply."

"Oh good."

"Except it wasn't water."

Watson looked up. "What?"

"It was vinegar. I had set it there earlier." Holmes leaned forward for the climax of his story. "The substance in my mouth began to foam madly and my tongue burned. I was choking on bubbling liquid and for the life of me could not get it to stop. After only a few seconds, the floor was a mess, so I hung my head over the sink and allowed it to spew down the drain. Finally it began to slow, and I quickly filled a cup with water and rinsed the rest of the awful substance from my mouth. And then it hit me."

"What, how much of your brain must be defective?"

"No. The potential of this chemical reaction as a weapon!"

Holmes beamed and Watson just stared at him. "Holmes, how…why would…you can't possibly—"

"Think of it, Watson! The enemy is hit with large amounts of this powder—"

"Baking soda, Holmes."

"—and then sprayed with vinegar, and the next thing you know, that entire half of the battlefield is foaming like a rabid raccoon!"

Watson shook his head again. "Your mind must be a fascinating place."

"Oh, it is." Holmes was virtually giddy with excitement. "This could entirely change the course of modern warfare, Watson."

"You know what I am interested in, Holmes?" Watson tied off his stitching. "What other things you have eaten."

"Hmm. You pose an interesting question, doctor." Holmes laid back on the counter, thinking. "Just the other day I accidentally swallowed a bug. And the day before that I awoke with a spider in my mouth."

Watson shuddered. "Surely you've eaten more…unorthodox things."

"Of course, Watson. Last Tuesday I ate mud."

"Pardon me, Holmes, but _why_?"

"Because I tripped." The detective ran a hand through his hair. "Ah. Yes. Mrs. Hudson made me eat soap on Sunday because I called her a senile old bat on a broom."

"Holmes!"

"She took my mouse away! It took me two hours to catch that rodent and then she tossed him out the door! Incidentally, speaking of mice, I once woke up with one of those on my face. Its tail was in my mouth."

"Holmes, I think you need to stop sleeping on the floor."

"I've tasted potassium bromide as well. And rubbing alcohol. And cotton. And rubbing alcohol on cotton. Oh, and that dreadful anesthetic you use."

"You ate _chloroform_?" Watson exclaimed.

"Just a smidge," Holmes said defensively. "I was only sick for three days."

"Do I really want to know what other medical equipment you've tasted?"

"Your tongue depressors are quite tasty. Like pine. And then I drank your eye surgery solution, of course, and I think I chewed on part of your stethoscope once," Holmes said.

Watson, about to put the stethoscope in his ears, stopped immediately.

"But that may have been Gladstone. Speaking of the dog, he constantly drools in my mouth. I've chewed on one of his hambones before too."

"You did _what_?"

"I was proving a point and required an object lesson!" Holmes rolled over on his stomach. "I've also eaten some of his dog food."

"Why, Holmes? Why?"

"Because he always eats mine. I figured I should at least get a taste of his. And while we're on the topic of animals, along with Gladstone, I've kissed a llama, two cats, a cockatoo, a squirrel, three horses, five rabbits, a monkey, a bat, and Nanny," Holmes listed.

"Don't forget that elephant at the circus."

"Oh yes. And an elephant."

"Is that all, Holmes?" Watson said, hoping and praying it was.

"No. I've also eaten ink, and a caterpillar, and baby formula, and newspaper, and chewed on a sock, and swallowed some kerosene, and bathwater. And I ate a bunch of feathers one time. And I've swallowed a couple marbles, and seven pence. And gunpowder," listed Holmes. "And cork."

"Is _that_ all?"

"Glue. I've eaten at least five sorts of glue."

"Glue."

"Yes, glue. You made me eat that magnet the other day too. I can still stick little bits of metal to my stomach," Holmes said with a smile.

Watson was now cleaning himself up, his surgery completed. "I can't help but wonder where this trend of putting strange objects in your mouth came from."

"I used to chew on wood as a child," Holmes said helpfully.

"You know, that explains many things," Watson remarked.

"Is your operation all done?" the sleuth asked.

"Yes. Finished. Only waiting for the patient to wake up."

"May I get off my counter now?"

"Go ahead."

Holmes slid off the counter again and made for the door. "Frankly, doctor, I'm surprised you haven't scolded me for ingesting all of these objects."

"Oh, no. You obviously have a chronic eating disorder, which I will address during your doctor's appointment this Friday," Watson smiled.

The sleuth sighed. "Alright, alright." He started out the door.

"SHERLOCK HOLMES! WHAT ON EARTH IS THIS FOAM ON THE FLOOR?"

Holmes cast a panicked look at Watson, who looked just as surprised by the shrieking from the kitchen.

"I'LL FLAY YOU ALIVE! I'LL MAKE A MUFFLER OUT OF YOU YET, HOLMES! YOUR EYEBALLS WILL BE COMING OUT OF YOUR NAVEL WHEN I FINISH WITH YOU, YOU CAD! YOU SCOUNDREL! YOU WHIRLWIND OF DESTRUCTION!"

"Ahh…on second thought, doctor—"

"IF THIS RUINS MY TILE…."

Holmes cringed. "May I hide up here for a few, um…days?"

Watson smiled. "Provided you put nothing in your mouth."

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**I'm not quite sure he can make that promise. R&R! **


End file.
